Your Time Will Come
by littleoldrachel
Summary: In which Remus is a struggling uni student, and Sirius works in a coffee shop, which just so happens to be the only place Remus can breathe. (Warnings for anxiety, depression, panic attacks).


**Prompt: Hey lovely - I read Don't Try to Fix Me (I Am Not Broken) and truly really liked it. I like your particular way writing things. I was wondering if you could write a Muggle AU Wolfstar involving a shy uni student Remus and a Sirius who'd work in a tiny coffee shop. If possible, I'd like it to occur during autumn.**

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Someone under stress meets someone looking pretty**

 _"It was one of those perfect English autumnal days which occur more frequently in memory than in life. The rich colours of grass and earth were intensified by the mellow light of a sun almost warm enough for spring, and the air was a sweet evocation of all Dalgliesh's boyhood autumns: woodsmoke, ripe apples, the last sheaves of harvest and the strong sea-smelling breeze flowing water-"_

The wind today is behaving like a petulant child - it seems to be determined to argue with the flowery description, and sends the pages of _A Taste For Death_ fluttering through Remus' numb fingertips, before snapping it shut on his lap. Remus lets out a frustrated groan, but then hastily glances up to check that he hasn't attracted the attention of passer-by. He hasn't, though this is more thanks to the weather (despite being late September, the wind has a November-like chill to it that sweeps through Remus' entire body, and, coupled with the oppressive, dark-grey clouds, it means that the botanical gardens are near deserted).

Still, he's not resenting the weather - a lack of people is just how he likes it. _'People'_ means awkward chatter, long silences, and Remus' childhood stutter rearing its ugly head, so really, alone is better. And besides, it's sort of impossible to be alone, not when he can surround himself with beautiful, kind, brave and intelligent characters whom he aspires so much to be, only a few words away in his precious books.

(Remus suppresses the low voice in the back of his head that reminds him that no, he's lonely as heck with Lily on her placement, that he misses his mother terribly, that he hasn't yet made a single friend in over a year at the University of Sheffield, and that procrastinating through reading will only make his current situation _that_ much worse, and-)

Balling his hands in to fists so tightly that he can _feel_ his nails about to break the skin, he tries desperately not to think about the _mountain_ of work that's waiting for him back at the flat - the stacks of reading, two reports to write, two essays to plan, one to draft, and one unstarted one due the very next day. This particular essay caused him more tears over the summer holidays than all of his exams last year put together. _And_ it's only the first fortnight of term - if this is what the _beginning_ of second year Law is like, Remus dreads to think about what's waiting for him over the rest of the semester. The anxious clawing sensation in his chest that he's been carrying around all week clenches violently, and he closes his eyes against the waves of panic flooding through his body, choking for steadying breaths.

 _Goddammit, this is supposed to be his happy place._

He _refuses_ to have a panic attack here, he's supposed to feel safe and relaxed here, but _oh_ God _, he is doomed_ \- there is no way in heaven nor hell that he'll be able to turn in Doctor McGonagall's essay, he can't do it, he just can't - no matter how many deadline extensions he's given. He doesn't even have any friends to ask for support in this - _fuck,_ how did he let it get this bad? Why did he ignore all of McGonagall's concerned emails? Why did he keep putting it off in favour of literally _anything else_? In fact - why does he think he can do a Law degree?

Last year, things had been (mostly) manageable; there'd been bad days and worse nights, and Law never makes him light up in the same way that literature does, but that's not why he's studying it after all - the point is that he had _coped_.

Now though...

Now, the pain in his chest is a sharp slicing, like his ribs are going to burst right out of his chest, and wow, what an appropriate simile given how thinly-stretched he feels right now, and he's about to explode under the pressure-

 _Ding!_

Remus' fingers, which are gripping his book so tightly that the pages are crumpling beneath his fingertips, fumble instead for his phone.

 **Lily (15:01):** _Stop putting it off, take a deep breath, go get a coffee, and just write it. You can do this, Remus._

Smiling wryly to himself, Remus forces in a strangled breath - then another - and again, until-

He can breathe.

The tides of panic and self-loathing recede in to mere ripples for the time being, and _he can breathe._

Lily knows.

She always inexplicably knows - and Remus wishes he knew how she does it, but she's always been able to sense (usually well before Remus), when things are getting too much for him. Then she drags him away for a walk, or force-feeds him chocolate, or presses his favourite book in to his hands... But she isn't here this year. As a second-year Medic, she's currently being rushed off her feet at her placement in the paediatric section of the local hospital, and Remus barely sees her these days.

Biting his lip, he taps out a quick reply.

 **Remus (15:07):** _Shouldn't you be working?_

The reply comes almost immediately.

 **Lily (15:07):** _On a break. Are you following doctor's orders?_

 **Remus (15:08):** _You're not a doctor yet, you know?_

 **Lily (15:08):** _Remus?_

 **Remus (15:08):** _Lily?_

 **Lily (15:09):** _You can do this._

Remus wants to laugh and cry and die all at the same time. Lily's frustratingly unshakeable belief in him is entirely misplaced, because no, Remus can't do this. He can't. Even if he had more than twenty-four hours to write a five thousand word essay, he still wouldn't be able to do it.

Because he's stupid, and a fuck-up, and a failure, and he hates himself more than she'll ever comprehend, but he can never articulate all of this to her without pathetically stuttering, and that just makes him loathe himself that little bit more.

Instead of replying, Remus pockets his phone, and gets slowly to his feet, feeling his bones popping and clicking in to place. He places the book back in the satchel, resolutely ignoring the thick textbook nestled there (he swears its taunting him), and begins to make his way out of the gardens. He'll go home, cry himself to sleep, and then maybe, by some miracle, he won't ever wake up, or he'll stop existing, and none of this stupid Law shit will even matter.

He trudges through the streets of Sheffield with a heavy heart, not even bothering to look where he's going, instead trusting his feet to guide him - where, he has no idea - he doesn't want to be somewhere where he has to deal with what a colossal failure at life he is, and how much he loathes himself for being in this situation, but in order to do that, he'd have to just stop existing entirely. And unfortunately, that doesn't seem to be happening any time soon.

He wishes he could call Lily, but she'll be back at work, doing something she adores, that lights her eyes with a fiery passion Remus himself only experiences in fictional worlds. Or his mother - but then she'll only worry herself, and when she's stressed, she struggles, and Remus refuses to do anything that might jeopardise her health in any way.

At the end of the day, it comes back to loneliness. He has nobody to talk to (not that McGonagall, both his lecturer and personal tutor, hasn't offered him 'professional help'), because he can't _talk_ to people. People want two-way conversations with someone capable of forming a sentence without wanting to vomit, want to talk without having to wait for Remus to finish stuttering over his own name, want interaction with someone who isn't completely terrified by the very prospect.

His self-pity distracts him as he wanders through the city, and it isn't until he feels the first spots of rain that he's able to pull himself out of it enough to register that he is nowhere near home, and the safety and warmth of his bed.

(And of course, he didn't think to pick up his raincoat this morning; yet another thing to add to the list of reasons why Remus is a failure of a human being).

The rain continues to spit down on him, growing stronger and fiercer with every passing second, so Remus glances around for somewhere to shelter until it stops, and that's when he sees it.

Beyond an open courtyard, set back from the main street, is an establishment he's never noticed before, even though he must have walked Division Street a hundred times. _Steam Yard Cafe_ is nestled between a tattoo parlour, and an old, red-brick building that looks as though it hasn't been used in years. The chairs and tables set out in front of it are empty and soaked, the flowers sagging with the weight of the water, but through the softly-glowing gold windows, Remus can see movement, and before he can even consider that going to a cafe will involve _talking_ to people, he's stumbling towards it, splashing through the fast-forming puddles.

It's not until he's dripping all over the doormat that Remus realises what a _huge_ tactical error he's made.

His favourite _Arctic Monkeys_ track is playing quietly in the background, the place is filled with comfortable chairs and bizarre trinkets that would have seemed out of place had they been anywhere else, and the counter is piled high with some of the most sumptuous-looking doughnuts that Remus has ever seen.

But, there are only four other people in the tiny cafe, one of whom is the barista now grinning widely at Remus, and the other three turn as one to stare at him as he enters. _Too much attention,_ he takes a shaky step backwards, _maybe he can escape before they speak to him,_ but because the universe seems to hate him, today-

"Hey there."

Remus _freezes._

The barista leans on the counter, an amused smile playing on his lips. "Is it raining out there? Or do you usually wander around completely soaked?"

Remus opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out, and a flush begins to work its way up his cheeks as he hears the chuckles from the rest of the customers. _This is such a shit idea, as if his day isn't crap enough already, he's now being made fun of by a complete stranger._ He drops his face to the floor, feeling the tears swim in his eyes, as he tries to focus on the scuff on the toe of his old converses.

"I'm just messing with you," laughs the barista. "Come on in, what can I get you?"

(As Remus slowly raises his eyes again, the barista's expression flickers slightly, taking in the way Remus' hands are trembling even as they clench the strap of his satchel, the over-bright eyes, the shaky breath he sucks in through chattering teeth, and his entire demeanour changes).

"Hey, are you alright?" he says, dropping his voice, though the customers have already lost interest and returned to their conversation.

Remus says nothing, but slowly moves forward, fixing his eyes instead on the counter-food, as though he's perusing the choices, when instead, he's attempting to ease the aching panic jolting through his chest. _At least this way, he doesn't have to look at the barista._

The flaw in this plan, is that when he finally summons the courage to meet the other man's gaze, he's completely floored, because _wow._

Until now, Remus has never truly understood Juliet's enchantment with Romeo, dismissing her ramblings as lovesick exaggeration, but _now_ , _"turn him into stars and form a constellation in his image. His face will make the heavens so beautiful that the world will fall in love with the night and forget about the garish sun,_ "has never seemed more appropriate.

Now, he gets it.

Because this man's face is _flawless_ \- the kind of perfect, modelesque complexion that is clear and smooth (annoyingly so, when Remus recalls years of squeezing spots and battling acne), with shining, soulful eyes (the colour of the _moon_ , Remus swears he's never seen eyes like those before), and thick, _glowing_ locks the colour of the night sky, coiling to his shoulders. And he - _Sirius_ , according his nametag - is smiling straight at Remus, his smile equal parts perfect-straight-white-toothy-dental-advert, and genuine to the core.

"What can I get you?" Sirius repeats, (and his smile truly does make the sun look gaudy, Remus thinks somewhat giddily).

He forces his gaze to the drinks board behind the beautiful man's face. He can do this, he can order something without flushing like a tomato, and stuttering like a stuck record.

"A-a hot-t-t," Remus winces, and feels his face flame up immediately. It's as though someone has suddenly turned the heating right up, causing him to sweat like crazy, and, despite their dampness, everything he's wearing (skinny jeans and a plaid shirt) feels far too scratchy and warm. Sirius doesn't laugh though, as so many before him have; in fact, his smile doesn't waver, he's still waiting patiently, and encouraged by this, Remus swallows his pride, and decides to try again.

 _(You can do this)._

"A hot-t chocol-late, p-p-please."

Sirius' smile stretches even wider, and Remus' heart stutters painfully. "Coming right up," he says, pushing himself up off the counter, and turning to fiddle with the machines behind him. (Un?)fortunately, this means that Remus now has a view of Sirius' _perfect_ arse, and flushing crimson, he looks away swiftly.

(He misses Sirius' amused glance back at him, as he calls, "you can go choose a seat, I'll bring it on over").

Remus shuffles awkwardly to a seat right in the corner of the room, where there is a shelf of vinyls and a squishy bench seat tucked under a small table. He lowers himself in to it, then shivers as the full weight of his cold, sodden clothes pressed against his skin. Rubbing at the goose bumps dancing up and down his arms, he debates with himself whether or not he should take out the textbook, follow Lily's advice, and just get the essay over with. If he does, he'll have an excuse not to make more conversation - after all, he can't sit here not doing anything; he can't trust his mind not to start down miserable paths once more.

His second-hand copy of _Unlocking the English Legal System_ thumps loudly on to the table, and Remus flinches at the very sound of it. Very slowly, like one going to their death, he reaches for his notepad and pen, and then flips the book open to the dog-eared pages he's seen his peers using.

(He may as well be reading it in Greek for all the sense it's making to him. And even the few sentences he can comprehend, he just can't bring himself to care about - who knew that there are so many sources of law?)

A whistle breaks his concentration, though considering he's been reading the same sentence for three minutes, half-debating whether it would make more sense to him if it were upside-down, it's arguable how hard he's really concentrating. Sirius is standing there, a large, steaming mug in one hand, a plate in the other, and he carefully places the former down in front of Remus.

Remus gazes at the marshmallows piled on top of a mountain of cream, and dusted heavily with chocolate sprinkles, and feels his mouth twitch in to a genuine smile for the first time all day. "Thank y-you," he says quietly, and clasps his hands tightly around the warm mug.

"You're very welcome." Sirius glances down at the textbook, flips it to the cover, then pulls a face. "Well that looks _fascinating._ "

Remus lets out a bark of surprised laughter, and Sirius grins back at him.

"Law student?"

He nods, feeling his heart clench a little again at the thought of his stupid fucking degree.

"Fresher?"

Remus shakes his head, and Sirius raises an eyebrow. "Second year?" When Remus nods again, Sirius makes a sort of 'huh' noise, and shrugs. "You don't look like either." Remus frowns, but Sirius is already continuing, and Remus wants to _hug_ him for that, because he's making it so easy, as though he knows that Remus' stomach coils painfully tightly whenever he's made to partake in conversation. "You look like, I dunno, an English student, I guess. You've got the whole nerdy indie vibe going on."

Sirius looks at him for a minute, and Remus looks down in embarrassment, not knowing what to say. But once again, Sirius continues with a chuckle. "You're real shy, huh?" He doesn't pause for Remus to reply, instead placing the plate down next to the textbook. "Well, I'll leave you to it then. Enjoy."

It takes Remus a few seconds to register that there is a large, glazed doughnut lying on the plate, which he's definitely not paid for. "W-wait!" he calls, before he can stop himself, and Sirius turns, half-way back to the counter. "I d-didn't order this."

Sirius smiles warmly. "I know. But you look like you need it."

There is nothing that Remus can say to express quite how much those simple words mean to him. His heart stutters almost painfully, but he's also warm and cosy, despite his wet clothes, and Sirius has noticed how _not_ okay he is. He has noticed, and nobody has ever noticed before, except Lily.

But Remus is nothing, if not stubborn. "I can't af-fford this," he says softly, not meeting Sirius' kind eyes.

"It's on me," Sirius says with a shrug, and before Remus can argue, he's disappeared around the counter once more.

(Doughnuts have never tasted so good).

There's something about this cafe, Remus realises, an hour later, as he stretches quietly in his seat, with a fully-formed essay plan that doesn't make him want to cry. And he can't decide if it's the continuous stream of good music playing softly in the background, or the warmth of the best hot chocolate he's ever drunk, or simply the relaxed atmosphere of the cafe, but here, he can breathe. He feels safe and okay and maybe even _content_ for the first time in a long time, and it only briefly crosses his mind that it has something to do with the reassuring smiles that Sirius shoots Remus every time their eyes meet, before he's flushing again.

Customers come and go, and the rain becomes heavier and heavier, before stopping quicker than Remus can blink, and gradually, (very gradually), the words on the plan spill over in to sentences, which then metastasise in to paragraphs, and sure, it needs work, but it's the _start_ of something, and that's more than Remus imagined possible when he first walked in here so despondently.

"Hey, Atticus Finch. It's closing time."

Remus starts, and then blinks blearily up at the barista, who's leaning on the table next to him, watching him in amusement. "Good book," he mumbles, without really registering what has been said - _Christ,_ he's exhausted. Fingertips stained with ink ( _ah the tribulations of being a left-hander_ ), and cramped from being in the same position for so long, back aching thanks to his hunched posture, and head pounding like a bass drum, Remus looks over the pages of cramped, tiny writing, and feels his heart lift at just _how much_ he's managed to write. The tiniest spark of hope rekindles in his chest, and despite his total exhaustion, he smiles softly as he packs away his things.

"You like _To Kill A Mockingbird_?" Sirius asks, with a grin, and it takes Remus longer than it should do to catch up with the conversation, as he slowly forces himself to his feet, glancing around at the now-empty cafe.

He nods, because _duh, he's not an idiot_ , it ought to be compulsory to like Harper Lee's masterpiece, and Sirius beams in response.

(It should be illegal to make Remus' heart jolt like that, with just a smile).

Outside, the night is drawing in - the sky is that intense, sapphire blue just before the sun sets, and the air is chilly once more, sending shivers through Remus and his still-damp clothes. Sirius walks him to the door, and leans against it, like some kind of model with his endless limbs and easy confidence.

"You take care of yourself now, short stuff," he's saying, managing to look serious and kind and amused all at the same time, which Remus just can't comprehend in his fatigued state, and so instead of saying anything, he nods and smiles slightly back at Sirius. But Sirius' perfect eyebrows knit together a little, and he leans forward, "I mean it, stay safe."

Remus nods again, and waves awkwardly, as he takes a few steps backwards, then _crash-_

He's walked straight in to one of the chairs propped against a table to dry off, and he stumbles away from it, feeling his face flame up again. Sirius just chuckles a little, "see you around, Atticus."

(And despite how cold the late September evening is, the thought of Sirius' warm smile, and glazed doughnuts, and the feeling like _maybe_ he can do this after all, fills his chest with a warmth that lasts all the way home).

"Go to _bed,_ Remus!" Lily says sharply, as she slips silently through the door to find Remus is _still_ curled on the couch with his laptop, surrounded by empty coffee mugs, scraps of paper, and open textbooks with sentences highlighted in garish colours. Aka, in exactly the same position he had been in when she had left for a night out six hours earlier.

"Can't," Remus says, not even looking up at her. "Busy."

Rolling her eyes, Lily sinks in to the armchair opposite him, reaching down to undo the straps of her heels, and rubbing her aching soles. "And why is that?"

Remus says nothing, continuing to type furiously, and Lily sighs.

" _How_ are you not done yet? You already had it half-written when you came back from the cafe."

This time, he does look up, and Lily wants to scream in frustration, because he looks _awful_ \- he's pale at the best of times, but now, with dark bruises under his eyes, which are red from being rubbed at vigorously to avoid falling asleep, he looks almost zombie-like. "Nearly done, I swear."

"Did you at least eat?" Lily asks, knowing what the answer is going to be, and dreading it all the same.

He waves a hand, "food is for the w-weak."

Lily closes her eyes, and fights back the waves of anger. She will _not_ shout at him - she knows from experience that it will do no good at all, particularly when he's already feeling fragile - this is just how Remus is. When she had first met him on a late-night study session in the library, and had found his stash of empty Red Bull cans, she joked that he seemed to be allergic to self-preservation, but as their friendship has slowly grown (very slowly, and thanks to a great deal of pushiness on Lily's part), it's become less and less of a joke. Remus just _doesn't_ take care of himself, and he never has - and it frustrates her beyond belief, because it's not like he doesn't know that the human body needs sleep, nourishment and hydration to stay healthy, because she's seen him look after his mother devotedly. When it comes to himself however, he just seems to _forget_ to eat or drink, or he keeps himself awake until his body gives up and he _collapses_ in exhaustion, or he beats himself up over a tiny mistake to the point that he's so worked up about it, that he won't be able to sleep; he just sits there and shakes.

Those are the worst nights.

She knows she's not _actually_ angry at Remus. He's the kind of person that it's impossible to be angry at, rather she's worried. More than worried. She knows that she's Remus' only real friend, she knows that Remus doesn't really care about himself all that much, and she knows that she can't be around all the time to make sure he's eating three meals a day and sleeping his eight hours at night. And _god,_ she wishes she could.

"I'm going to make you something, you're going to eat it _all,_ and then you're going to bed. Okay?" She forces herself to her feet, regretting the clubbing, because she _aches_ all over, and she just wants to go to bed, but no, she has to take care of her incapable flatmate.

"No, Lily, _please._ I'm n-nearly there, it's just the conclusion, _please."_ His voice cracks on the last word, and Lily's heart clenches tightly. But she has to stand her ground.

"Remus, no. This is getting ridiculous. I'm not going to watch you work yourself in to the ground for something that makes you miserable anyway."

"You know w-why I have to," his voice is shaking, and Lily snaps. She throws up her hands helplessly, unable to meet Remus' tear-filled eyes, and strides from the room, feeling unbearable guilty and frustrated and helpless all at once.

 _Yes,_ she knows why _Remus_ feels he has to study something that makes him feel like crap, but _she_ doesn't get it. She's met Remus' mother, and it doesn't take a genius to work out that Remus is doing what he thinks will make her happy and comfortable, without realising that all she _really_ wants, is for Remus to be happy.

Angrily, she moves about the kitchen, putting some of Remus' favourite chicken noodle soup on the hob, before walking through the lounge (resolutely ignoring Remus) to her bedroom, where she can finally shimmy out of her tight black dress and in to her warm, comfortable pyjamas. By this time, the frustration has once more cleared, and so she trudges slowly back in to living room, left only with the guilt and sadness.

"'m done." The exhausted murmur shatters through her nervous ramblings, and her gaze snaps back to Remus, who has pushed the laptop away, pressing his palms against his eyes with a sigh. "It's not good, but it's done."

Wordlessly, she holds open her arms, and Remus clambers to his feet straight in to them, burying his face in her shoulder. She can feel his sobs rather than hear them, and she presses a kiss lightly to the top of his head, "I'm proud of you, you did it."

"It's only the first w-w-week," he whispers in to her chest, and Lily has to strain to catch the muffled, choked words. "I d-don't think I can d-do this."

"But I know you can," Lily says softly, squeezing him gently. "You're dehydrated, and hungry, and exhausted, things will look better in the morning. Come and eat your soup, and go to bed."

Watching him go, Lily can't help but wonder to herself - sure, she knows that he _can_ do this, he can get through the year, because Remus achieves incredible things when he puts his mind to them, but at what cost?

" _October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was kept busy by a sudden spate of colds among the staff and students. Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid's pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds."_

Remus shifts against the tree trunk, resting one leg perpendicular against it, so that he can balance Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets a little more securely. Crimson, golden and coffee coloured leaves spiral down from the shedding branches, landing to create beautiful patchworks of colour on the floor, and not even the crispy leaves landing on his book can shift his small smile, as he shunts his weight to the other leg.

He loves autumn - particularly in the Harry Potter books, because autumn signals the start of a new school year at Hogwarts; it's a time of so much hope and joy and safety for Harry, it's a place away from the Dursleys, where he is loved and happy, and Remus adores that. He had naively imagined that university would fill him with the same kind of pleasure as Hogwarts does for Harry, but he couldn't have been more wrong - the reality had been sleepless nights, icy dread, and I-want-to-die level of horrifying awkward encounters.

Still, he's determined not to let that spoil his favourite season - after all, there's Halloween, and Bonfire Night, and crisp mornings with pearly dew on grass and frosting on leaves, and nippy evenings full of silver stars and an elegant moon, and that's without even mentioning the vibrant colours of the leaves, and the way in which they pirouette from their branches.

Unfortunately, he's yanked sharply from his daydreams by the sounds of hundreds of students' chatter as they spill out of the Law block, meaning only one thing - it's time for Remus' Constitutional Law seminar.

Seminars are the bane of Remus' university life. At least in lectures, it's possible to hide amongst a large, faceless crowd of students, pretending to understand, as he frantically scribbles notes that he'll attempt to decipher properly later. In seminars, however, there exists no such safety net. He is made to talk - to analyse, theorise, and sometimes even - God forbid - role-play. This particular seminar is run by Doctor Horace Slughorn - a well-meaning but woefully misjudging man, who considers it his duty to 'bring Remus out of his shell.' He does this by regularly forcing him to express opinions on topics that he is highly unsure about, only to be disappointed when Remus is inevitably reduced to a useless, stuttering wreck. All of this takes place in front of peers, who in turn, take it upon themselves to mock Remus' general uselessness.

To say that Remus is dreading this seminar would be the understatement of the millennia.

With a resigned sigh, Remus scoops up his satchel, carefully returns his battered copy of the Chamber of Secrets to it¸ and starts towards the building. Before he even reaches the main doors, however, a familiar drawl echoes over the sounds of the other students, to reach Remus' ears:

"Oh, Lupin! What a surprise it is to see you here! Did your mother have to suck on the Dean's cock to let you off fees this year, or-"

Remus spins sharply around, his hands clenching in to fists around the satchel's straps. Of all of the hundreds of students studying Law in all its various forms, he has to be lumbered with Severus Snape for two years running.

From day one, Severus has loathed Remus, though Remus isn't entirely sure what he's done to provoke such hatred, and the situation has spiralled out of control from there, made worse by Remus continually scoring higher on exams and assignments than Severus throughout the entirety of First Year, and Remus' close friendship with Lily, (who refuses to say more about the matter than that she and Severus had dated briefly a little in Sixth Form, but they had wanted different things). Severus adores it when Remus gets something wrong in seminars, when his essays are anything less than perfect, and he constantly mocks Remus' stutter behind the lecturers' backs, or steals Remus' notes to hide them in the worst sorts of places. Things hadn't gotten really awful though - after all, Remus was used to a little bullying, or 'banter,' as they had called it at secondary school - until last Easter, when Severus had discovered that Remus is a scholarship student, and more than that, that his mother is "retarded," as Severus describes it. This personally offends him, considering Remus' exemplary grades and relationship with Lily. (Severus doesn't feel that Remus is worthy to be Lily's friend - something that had resulted in a horrible, loud and long argument between Lily and Severus when Lily had discovered this, that had Remus cowering in the corner - he hates conflict). Since then, Remus' money just disappears from his pockets (money he simply can't afford to lose), Severus has somehow convinced everyone else to laugh at his 'Remus-is-a-r-r-retard' jokes, and he frequently shoves Remus out of the way or down stairs just for the fun of it. But what can Remus do - it's not as though he can stick up for himself without being laughed at even more, and university just isn't the place to tell someone he is being bullied - it is pretty fucking pathetic, after all.

He takes a deep breath, forcing the nerves out of his system, and then makes himself look up in to Severus' cruel, black eyes. "No, it turns out you just need t-to get a first, but then I guess that's something you w-wouldn't underst-tand." He's proud that his stutter only forces itself out three times, and it's worth it to see the fury cross Severus' face.

"You got a first?" he sneers in disbelief.

Remus isn't a smug person - quite the opposite in fact - but on this particular occasion, there's nothing more he wants to do, than to rub his first in to Snape's stupid face. And despite the ball of anxiety resting just below his ribcage, he forces a superior smile, "I'm sure you'll get there o-one day, Severus."

Snape splutters in outrage behind him, letting out swearwords that earn him disapproving glances from passing students, but Remus' mind is already back on the seminar _(oh God, oh God, please let Slughorn be ill, please let it be cancelled, please let him break his legs so he doesn't have to go)-_

But alas. Slughorn is rubbing his hands together at the front of the room, as the other ten students slowly file in, and, despite his best efforts, Remus' legs remain intact.

 _It's only two hours,_ he reminds himself, as he lowers himself in to a seat as far away from Snape as he can manage. _Two hours of hell, then it's over till next week._

That thought is all that sustains him through the next half an hour - the excruciatingly painful 'introduce yourselves to your fellow classmates' - and then through Slughorn's hour long drone on what the course involves this year. He almost - naively, foolishly, _stupidly -_ thinks he'll make it through the class unscathed, when suddenly, a sheaf of paper is dropped on to his desk.

Remus recognises it instantly; it's the summer essay they had been given to write, and he had struggled with it almost as much as he had with McGonagall's. He hadn't been in a good place at the time of writing the essay, and, judging by the scrawling, red (really, do they have to mark in red - it makes all of your errors so obvious) question marks and crosses, it had showed. He flips to the back page, trying to ignore the large passages of text that have simply been circled with the words "point?" or "unsupported," next to them, because if he focuses on just how much he's fucked this one up, he thinks the lump in his throat might actually choke him to death.

And there it is. His mark.

 _Forty_.

Remus has never been so close to failing something in his life - in fact, he's never received anything less than a 2:1 at uni. But now, the ugly little numbers glare up at him - mocking him with the knowledge that he's just _barely_ passed, that had Slughorn been feeling a little less generous, he would have _failed_.

Failing just isn't an option. Not for him, never has been, never will be. He has to pass - moreover, he has to pass _well,_ he needs to be able to get a well-paid job to support his mother, and nobody employs a _failure._

He's struggling a little to breathe, and his chest feels uncomfortably tight - it takes a little too long to hear Slughorn talking to him over the pounding of his frantic heartbeat, and he looks up at him helplessly, his eyes a little wild.

Slughorn frowns a little, and then repeats himself. "Now, I know that this isn't your strongest essay, Remus, so do you think you can explain to me where you went wrong?"

 _No._ Absolutely not. Because breathing is nigh-on impossible, speaking will be that much worse. And the kind tone of voice Slughorn's using (the one he always adopts when talking to his more 'fragile' students), makes it so much worse, because he's trying, he's just trying to help, but Remus is physically incapable of meeting him halfway on this.

But his prolonged silence has attracted the attention of the other students now - and Remus' heart jolts again as Snape finally looks up, then, slowly smirks maliciously.

 _Keep it together,_ he tells himself furiously. _Keep it together, fall apart later when there's nobody to watch, don't you_ dare _cry, you're not allowed to cry-_

 _"_ I-I-I-" he tried, but his voice is shaking so much that his stutter barely has to try and fuck everything up, he's doing that of his own accord.

"Did you misunderstand the question?" Slughorn says gently, too gently, too kindly.

Behind him, Remus can see Snape sniggering, nudging the boy beside him and murmuring something that soon have the pair of them in fits of laughter.

Remus' face is burning, and he ducks his head, fighting the tears, and just shrugs.

"Remus..." And now, Slughorn sounds so _disappointed._ "Do you really not know?"

He feels like the worst person in the world, but he shrugs again, physically unable to meet Slughorn's eyes, and Slughorn sighs a sigh that floods him with shame and guilt and embarrassment.

"Okay then, Remus. Why don't we go through it as a class, and see where you went wrong, yes?"

Remus' head shoots up, and he stutters, "w-wait-" because if there's one thing worse than Slughorn humiliating him, it's _everyone_ humiliating him - but it's too quiet, he's always too damn quiet, and Slughorn ploughs ahead with the task that will _destroy_ Remus and the little self-confidence he had to begin with, because Snape is going to _tear him apart._

He's paralysed by fear, as Slughorn hands out photocopies of Remus' disastrous essay (Remus doesn't remember him leaving the room to do said photocopying, but it's like he's blacking in and out, because the next thing he knows, there are sniggers all around him as Slughorn explains in painstaking detail that he'd used entirely the wrong amendment to support his second point. Only the sniggers sound muffled, as though he's hearing them from underwater, and it's only then that he realises he hasn't breathed for a solid minute, that his head's swimming, that he's trembling from head to toe-)

 _He can't breathe._

It's the most pathetic and stupid and embarrassing thing to fall apart over something so tiny, because Remus knows, objectively at least, that everyone is allowed 'off-days.' That it's impossible to be perfect all the time, as Lily is constantly reminding him, and that this is just his off-day. So this essay was a catastrophe - _you're worth more than your grades,_ isn't that how the mantra goes?

Except Remus has never, not even for one minute, been able to accept that, because without his grades, _he is nothing._ And yes, it's pathetic and stupid and unhealthy to base your entire self-worth on a few stupid numbers, but it's all he's ever known, and it used to be enough - before uni, he was the top of every class, he still hated himself, but he was somehow still _enough_.

 _When did he stop being enough?_

The minutes crawl by.

He spends two minutes trying to settle himself in to his happy place - Hogwarts, Narnia, eighteenth-century London - anywhere fictional he can think of, because there, the real world can't hurt him, but it is, and it does, and _he can't breathe._

Remus drags in painfully shallow breaths, as Slughorn drones on and one and _on,_ drawing more and more laughs with every one of Remus' increasingly moronic mistakes. He doesn't have to look at Snape to know that the other boy is busy coming up with a host of new insults for Remus, and that the rest of the class are playing right along with his jokes.

 _Breathe in, and out. When did breathing become too much for him? Breathe in for four, out for eight._

With eleven minutes, thirty-eight seconds to go, the deep breathing stops working for him. His fists clench, his nails twist in his palms, and the pain shoots through them, but by the time there're seven minutes and twelve seconds of this torture left (and his palms are bloody and messy), it's not enough to ground him again.

Five things you can see? No, everything is blurring in to one, swirling mass of colour, and he's completely incapable of picking out an individual object. He reaches blindly for the table, grasping it like a life support, and counting down the minutes, the seconds until he can escape.

Even though he's been anticipating it, the ring of the bell still shocks him, and he sits frozen for a moment, before he collects himself, and then he's out of the door, even as Slughorn shouts after him, "Remus, wait, do you understand where you-"

He's the first student to spill out in to the corridor, and he sprints to the toilets only a few doors down, wrenching open a cubicle door, and just _barely_ manages to aim the acidic bile forcing itself from his throat, down in to the toilet. His knees give way beneath him, and he collapses on to the floor, resting his head against the toilet seat.

It's the worst anxiety attack he's had in a really, really long time.

He's not sure if he wants to scream, or cry, or just stop existing, but he's just _exhausted,_ and he could fall asleep here if he weren't shaking so badly still, if his heartbeat would just _settle_ already.

 _Ding!_

His phone lights up with a text notification, and Remus forces his eyes down to it, even that tiny motion making him nauseous.

 **Lily (16:12):** _Hey, I'm outside when you're done :)_

The screen goes dark before he can muster the energy to reply, and so he lets it. He allows his eyes to fall shut, (he's a terrible friend, making her wait out in the cold on her own, but he can't _move_ ), and ignores the next three messages that buzz through.

 **Lily (16:15):** _Hey arsehole. Hurry up, it's fucking freezing._

 **Lily (16:20):** _Remus._

 **Lily (16:27):** _Where are you?_

 **LILY CALLING (16:30)**

He can't ignore it anymore. Especially since he can now move without wanting to be sick again, and he forces himself up, flushing the toilet, and answering the phone in one fluid motion.

" _Remus -_ where have you been? I've been texting you, everyone else came out of your class ages ago, did something happen? Where _are_ you, I-"

"Lily," Remus whispers, and Lily stops immediately.

"Oh, Remus," she murmurs.

Remus makes a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh that would have been embarrassing with anyone but Lily.

"Where are you?" she says again, but now it's much softer, much gentler.

"Bathroom. I'll be out s-soon." It's not a lie, he's already moving towards the sinks, rinsing his hands and mouth out.

There's a pause, and then Lily says carefully. "Remus, have you thought any more about therapy?"

"No," he says firmly.

"But don't-"

"I c-can barely talk to you, Lily, how d-do you think I'm going t-to t-talk to a complete stranger?" He doesn't mean for it to sound as aggressive as it does, but they've had this conversation before, countless times, over the last year, and every time it's the same. Remus struggles talking to his best friend about how much he loathes himself, about how _awful_ his course is making him feel, about how much he's letting his mother down. There's no way he'd be able to articulate those thoughts and feelings to someone he doesn't know - and he doesn't have the money to sit in silence with said person, waiting to feel comfortable enough around them to be counselled.

Lily says nothing, and Remus immediately starts to apologise - "sorry, didn't m-mean to snap at-t you, please don't hate m-me-"

"Stop. I don't hate you, I'll never hate you," Lily cuts across him, and Remus can't help the inward sigh of relief. "But, I do want you to talk to McGonagall about how you're coping with everything. This can't carry on, I won't let you do this to yourself."

"Okay," Remus whispers, even though he has no intention of making an appointment with his personal tutor. As kindly as she is, Remus can't talk to her about this stuff, because what if she mentions it to his mother, and she finds out just how much he's fucking everything up? He pokes a head out of the bathroom door, and, seeing the corridor is deserted, begins to quickly walk towards the exit.

"What brought this one on?" Lily asks, and Remus hears her slide down a wall to the floor. It takes him a minute to order his thoughts enough to remember the cause of his breakdown.

"Got forty on an essay," he mumbles finally, embarrassed.

" _Remus._ What have I told you about being so hard on yourself? A pass is a pass-"

"And Slughorn went through it in front of _everyone,_ " Remus' voice cracks slightly, but Lily lets out a dangerously angry swear.

"That _bastard,_ God, Remus, are you okay? I'm coming to find you."

"I'm n-nearly there," Remus says quickly, and it's true; a flight of stairs and another corridor, and he'll reach her.

"I'll kill him," Lily says, her voice still harsh and livid. "How _dare_ he do that to you, that's _not_ okay-"

"Lily-" Remus tries to interrupt, but she talks over him.

"I have a good mind to report him to-"

" _Lily._ " She pauses expectantly, and Remus sighs quietly. "Can we t-talk about something else?"

It's Lily's turn to sigh now, but she relents - of course she does, because she's the epitome of a perfect friend, and Remus doesn't deserve her - he knows that, even as she greets him with a long hug, and promises of pizza and Netflix. He doesn't deserve her warmth as she snuggles against him all night to make sure he actually sleeps, nor her concern as she stands over him to make sure he actually books that appointment with McGonagall.

He doesn't deserve her, because all he does is worry her - he can see it in her eyes, and the exhausted slump of her shoulders as he wakes her up with a coffee and croissant in the morning. And it's because of how little he deserves her - and how much he owes her - that he forces himself to shower, change his clothes, and head out to his appointment with McGonagall.

He's not sure why he goes via the little coffee shop; it's not like Division Street is in even remotely the right direction, but he has a vague recollection of being able to _breathe_ there, and goodness knows he needs that today. The cold, sharp air stings his lungs, but at least the pain of it makes him feel something other than anxiety and exhaustion, and it clears his mind enough that he can begin constructing some kind of lie to McGonagall about why he thought he needed an appointment.

 _God,_ why did he let Lily bully him in to it?

The cafe is only just opening as Remus rounds the corner, and he stumbles in surprise as he sees the same beautiful barista straightening out the flower baskets. Sirius turns and catches sight of Remus, then a stunning smile splits his face as he calls out jovially, "Atticus!"

He remembers Remus? Granted it's been less than three days since he was last here, but people don't _remember_ Remus - he's forgettable - the quiet ones always are. And besides, Remus barely even said a word to him, _why_ does he remember him-

"I thought I told you to look after yourself, Atticus," says Sirius sternly, drawing a little nearer, and Remus suddenly realises that he's wearing his shabbiest coat, and the skinny jeans with the holes in them - not even the fashionable kind. He looks down, flushing, and tightens his hand nervously around his satchel strap.

He can't place the feeling that this man gives him - it's nothing he's felt before, but it's _nice._ Sirius is warms him from the inside out, and makes him feel like someone really _cares_ (not that he doesn't think that Lily cares, but she's obligated to as his only friend, and this is different - there is no obligation here, which surely has to _mean_ something?)... He's being ridiculous - he's only known Sirius for a maximum total of three hours, but still, the vibe of safety and confidence that Sirius seems to exude is... _special._

When he glances up again, Sirius is still looking at him, only now he looks worried. "What's wrong?" Sirius asks, but not in that impatient, I-don't-really-care-what-your-answer-is-I'm-asking-out-of-politeness way, but in a way that makes Remus believe that Sirius would actually _listen_ to him, and for a bizarre moment, he considers telling this virtual stranger everything.

Then he catches himself - he will _not_ burden this lovely, beautiful man with his stupid, pathetic problems - and he shakes his head. "Nothing."

Sirius cocks his head sideways, and as Remus should have expected, it's unfairly lovely, but he lets the blatant lie slide, and says instead, "okay. Can I get you something to drink then?"

"Uh... a hot chocolate, p-please," Remus says, fishing in his pockets for his change.

He follows Sirius inside, and there's a queue of three people being served by a slightly harassed-looking boy with messy hair and glasses.

"Thank god, Padfoot, please explain to this weirdo that we don't serve green tea doughnuts - why is that even a thing, who wants tea in a doughnut?"

Sirius - Padfoot? - snorts with laughter, and sidles round to the other side of the counter. "Sorry ma'am, you'll have to find a more pretentious cafe for that." The woman rolls her eyes, and stalks out of the cafe, managing to look haughtily unaffected, even as the other customers laugh.

"Filthy hipsters," Sirius and the other boy chorus, without even having to look at each other.

"Atticus," Sirius gestures to Remus to come closer to the counter, and Remus shuffles forward, feeling awkward about pushing in front of the other customers, but they simply part for him. The other boy only raises his eyebrows a little at Sirius, who raises them right back, then turns his one-million watt smile on to Remus again. "The usual?"

Remus wants to chuckle, because the idea of having a usual at a place he's only visited twice now is ludicrous, but he doesn't - instead he nods, and Sirius beams, and turns to make Remus a hot chocolate. The other barista finishes up with the last customer, just as Sirius spins back around with Remus' drink, and leans over the counter to look at Remus better.

"So. Is this your latest conquest, Pads?" he asks, directing the question at Sirius, but staring at Remus. "He's not your usual type."

"No, Prongs," says Sirius sharply. "This is Atticus. He's cool, be cool."

" _Atticus?_ " Prongs (?) says incredulously.

"Well, that's not his actual name-"

"Thank God," says Prongs loudly.

"-But he's shy, and he loves _To Kill A Mockingbird_ , and he studies law, so, Atticus."

Remus isn't sure how he feels about being talked about like he's not there. He wants to say something, because Prongs' gaze is making him increasingly uncomfortable, and he's flushing right down to his roots, he can feel it, but he says nothing, because he's pathetic.

But then, to his astonishment-

"You're making him uncomfortable, cut it out," says Sirius, cuffing Prongs around the head, and Remus could cry with gratefulness. "Don't mind him, he's a twat, but he means well," he says to Remus, who manages a small smile as Prongs says "hey" indignantly. "Here's your drink," Sirius slides it across to Remus, who fumbles with the coins - he had the _exact_ amount worked out, but he needs to check it one more time - and Sirius glances at it once, then smiles softly, before slipping it in to the till.

"Sorry, Atticus," says Prongs quietly. "Didn't mean to make you feel awkward or anything."

Remus blinks in surprise, his features rearrange themselves in to a genuine smile, and then he shocks himself even more by replying. "It's o-okay. M-my fault, not yours."

Prongs shakes his head, but he's grinning. "Nah, definitely me. In fact," he reaches in to the display, and plucks a chocolate doughnut from a stack there. "It's on me."

Remus opens his mouth to protest - he can't keep accepting free food from them (as much as he wants to, because _damn_ that doughnut was delicious), but Sirius is already bagging it up for him, and sliding it over to join his paper cup.

"Thanks-s," he says softly, picking up the items.

"Have a wonderful day," Sirius says with a smile, and though he probably says that to every customer, it still makes Remus' heart jolt with happiness. Prongs adds, "see you around, Atticus," and it's the sincerity in their voices that make him smile widely at them both.

Neither of them say anything about his stutter, nor the fact that he couldn't quite meet their eyes throughout the whole conversation. Neither of them mention his slight tremble as he reaches out to take the cup and bag, nor the way he trips up a little as he makes for the door, a little too quickly to be considered 'normal.'

It's not until the cool, autumnal air hits him sharply in the face that a smile breaks across it. (That shop is magic, because his genuine smiles are so few and far between these days). He takes a sip of the hot chocolate - almost scalding his mouth in the process - and it's delicious, sliding down his throat to warm him from the inside out. He carefully pushes the doughnut in to his bag as he strides down the street, promising himself it will be a treat for making it through the appointment with McGonagall.

Speaking of which -

He quickens his pace - he has twenty-three minutes to get to McGonagall's office - and even though he doesn't want to go (not even a little bit, not at all), he doesn't want to let McGonagall down even more. She's been so good to him, giving him extensions on deadlines, and regularly checking in with him, and he knows how lucky is to have such a caring personal tutor...

It's this thought that finally spurs him in to a run, and his hot chocolate splashes and burns all over his hand, even as he whips past early morning shoppers, and bright-eyed buskers, (he's been going thirty seconds before he's gasping for breath, _god_ , he's unfit). By the time he staggers up to McGonagall's office, he feels like he's dying; his breaths are tearing his chest in two, his cheeks are flushed and sweaty, and there's a dubious brown stain on his top, that _he_ knows is hot chocolate, but to anyone else - well, it's dubious.

He collapses to his knees, heaving in gulps of air - much to the amusement of a passing lecturer - and right on cue, McGonagall's door swings open.

The tall, thin, bespectacled woman stands in the doorway, the lines on her face making her look stern, but the crinkles around her eyes betraying her kindliness. She looks entirely unsurprised to see Remus on the floor, she simply raises an eyebrow, and stretches out a hand to help pull him up.

"Good morning, Mr Lupin," she says. "Do come in."

Remus allows himself to be dragged in to her office - a neat, rather ordinary room painted in the same colour as the emerald green blazer hanging on the door.

McGonagall sits herself down in the straight-backed chair behind her desk, and gestures for Remus to sit in the chair opposite, which he does so, dropping his bag down by his feet. She gives him a minute to catch his breath, whilst she shuffles her already perfectly-ordered notes, and then looks up.

(He's not ready for this, he realises, he's too stressed from the run, and from yesterday's events, and just everything in general - he already knows exactly how this talk will go, and there's nothing he can do to stop it from failing miserably; it just will).

"So... Remus. A ginger nut?" she gestures to the tin that's sitting in perfect alignment with her pots of pens.

Remus shakes his head, "no, th-thank you," and in the moment's pause that follows, he hurries on, "th-thank you for s-s-seeing me on s-such short notic-ce."

McGonagall inclines her head slightly. "Well, this is my job, Remus," she says lightly. "Making sure that you're... happy." She peers at him over her glasses. "And, are you?"

"Am I what?" says Remus stupidly.

"Happy."

 _(No. I'm miserable, I'm a mess, I don't want to be here, I hate Law, I hate myself, please, God, make it all stop-)_

"Of course," he says instead, praying that she won't pull at that string (but knowing that she will).

McGonagall purses her lips. "Miss Evans doesn't seem to think so, Remus," she says gently. "She tells me that you're not alright at all."

A surge of anger blazes through Remus - he knows Lily is concerned about him, but to tattle on him to McGonagall? That's something else even for her - the little traitor, he can't believe her. "Does she?" Even he's surprised by the coldness in his voice.

"Don't be like that, Remus," she says briskly, though her voice is still kind underneath the harshness, "she's worried about you, and with good reason."

Remus' anger fades as quickly as it had flared, and he immediately feels guilty - of course she told McGonagall, she's just being a good friend. "B-but I'm _fine_ ," he insists, forcing the guilt away to deal with later, and instead arranges his features in to what he hopes is a convincing smile.

He clearly fails miserably, because McGonagall sighs, pushes herself away from her desk, and stands to walk to the window. "You're not, Remus, and you haven't been for quite some time."

(Remus says nothing, because there's nothing he can say to defend himself, nothing at all, because every word she says is the truth, and Remus has always been such a poor liar).

"Doctor Slughorn has informed me of your latest essay marks. And I have been in touch with your other lecturers, all of whom have informed me that you're struggling. I don't need to remind you that it hasn't even been a month since term began, and to be falling behind already doesn't bode well for the rest of the year, so I need you to be honest with me - are you happy?"

He knows what she's trying to do; she wants to provoke him in to a response, because at least when he's angry, he's honest, but he doesn't have any words, he's frozen - having it all laid out in front of him like that paralyses him with the knowledge that _he's not good enough,_ and he's _never_ good enough.

(But if she digs a little deeper, if she tries a little more, it'll all come spilling out, and that thought _terrifies_ Remus, because once he starts talking, he doesn't know if he'll be able to stop).

"Breathe, Remus," there's a soft voice, and a gentle hand on his arm, and Remus hadn't even realised that he was hyperventilating until he's being pulled out of the beginnings of a panic attack. McGonagall continues to crouch in front of him until she's certain that he's not going to fall apart, then slowly stands, and sits herself back down. She offers him a drink, but he declines, and she sighs. It's a heavy, hopeless, what-am-I-going-to-do-with-you-Remus sort of sigh that Lily's used on him all too often, and Remus feels yet another pang of guilt.

"I think _that_ ," she gestures vaguely in his direction, "says it all, don't you?"

Remus nods numbly - the late nights of the past few days, coupled with the usual exhaustion after a panic attack, is settling in, and he just wants to curl up in a nest of pillows and sleep (and never wake up).

"I know you did exceptionally well last year, and you should be very proud of yourself, you worked so hard, and I can't name a single student who deserves a first more. _But,_ you have to appreciate that Second Year is very different to First Year." Remus knows this, but he lets her talk, knows she has to give him this pep talk in order to feel like she's helping him. "Second Year distinguishes the students with a passion for their degree from the students who are just drifting, or struggling, or, _are trying to make other people happy_." She pointedly looks at him, and he shifts uncomfortably, regretting the day he'd broken down and told McGonagall everything more than anything else in the world.

McGonagall sighs heavily again, and continues, "any parent wants their child to be happy, Remus. Your _mother_ wants you to be happy. Your mental health _has_ to come first. But you're not putting yourself first, and you never have done, and whilst that's an admirable quality in a person, it's not doing you any good at all."

There's a silence, but it's not an uncomfortable one, as it gives Remus a chance to sort out his head, whilst McGonagall appears to be considering him. Remus stretches in his chair a little, feeling his bones pop, and, catching McGonagall's eye, smiles apologetically at the sound.

She catches him off-guard with her next question, "have you though any more about therapy, Remus?" The question is so similar to the one that Lily asked him that Remus almost snaps at McGonagall in the same way as he answered Lily, but he manages to catch himself.

"I don't w-want therapy."

"Nobody _wants_ therapy, Remus. But it might do you some good."

"I don't n-need therapy then."

She sighs yet _again,_ "very well. What about quitting your degree?"

Remus _blanches._ All the breath leaves his lungs in a whoosh, and _he can't breathe._ Is she asking him to leave the university? Is this it for him? He _can't_ leave - if he does, he'll be a failure, a dropout, he'll have let everyone down (but nobody more than his mother), and no, she can't be asking him to do this-

"Remus, calm _down_! I'm not asking you to leave - I should have expressed myself better, I admit, please take a deep breath."

Air trickles back in to his lungs, so slowly that he's dizzy from the lack of it, as her words filter through the blind panic that's engulfed him. _She's not kicking him out, she's not kicking him out, she's not kicking him out, he's_ fine. Embarrassment floods him, and he clenches his hands tightly, his fingernails digging in tightly enough to draw blood. He needs to _calm the fuck down._ (For a moment, he reflects that maybe he could do with that therapy everyone keeps mentioning to him, but he dismisses the idea immediately, and it takes him a moment to realise that McGonagall's speaking to him again).

"All I was asking, Remus, was whether you'd considered doing something that actually makes you _happy_? Maybe changing your degree?"

He shakes his head. "It's t-too late to change."

"Not if it's what you need to do. It doesn't make you a failure, or a dropout, or any of the things I know you're thinking. But I don't think Law is right for you, and deep down, I don't think you do either."

Remus shrugs, physically incapable of taking everything in; he's just so tired, and it may only be ten thirty, but he's just going to go straight back to bed when he gets home. He feels bad for McGonagall, because he knows she's trying, but he can't deal with it all right now.

Perhaps she reads this in his face, because she sighs, "I don't think we'll get anywhere this morning, so I'm going to let you go. But I want you to think about what I said, and come back and talk to me again next week. Alright?"

Remus nods, and stands a little shakily. "Th-thank you for y-y-you know..." he trails off, and gestures around, and, by some miracle, McGonagall seems to understand, because she smiles gently at him, and says, "my office door is always open to you, Remus, and I mean that."

He ducks his head to blink back the tears that have appeared in his eyes without warning ( _pathetic_ ), because the motherly concern in her voice is too much, it reminds him too much of his own mother, and how much he misses her, and how much he's letting her down. Reaching in to his bag, he pulls out the doughnut that he'd been saving, and plops it on to her desk.

"F-for y-you," he stammers, in response to her perplexed expression. "To say s-sorry."

"What are you apologising for, Remus?"

He can't meet her eyes, because the worry there will be overwhelming, and so he says to his feet, "f-for being like this-s..." And then he darts to the door as fast as he can, pretending not to hear McGonagall's call after him, and dashes down flight after flight of stairs, not stopping till he's reached the bottom of the building. He hesitates before opening the door, resting his forehead against the glass and blowing out a breath, fighting to keep the tears at bay.

McGonagall reminds him so much of Marilla Cuthbert from _Anne of Green Gables,_ she always has done - at first, a steely, somewhat imposing figure, but once you break through the initial coldness, protective and warm and kindly. It hurts a little to think like that though, because that means that she _really_ cares, and Remus struggles a little with the idea that people really _like_ and _care_ about him.

But, before he's had time to get a hold of himself, the door is swinging hard in to his chest, smacking against his face, and he staggers back, momentarily blinded by pain.

Severus Snape appears around the other side of the door, babbling some kind of apology, but then he catches sight of his victim, and he grinds to a sudden halt. Remus blinks past the stinging pain, and makes to move out of Severus' way as quickly as possible, but Snape grabs his arm hard, and forces him to stay where he stands.

"Well if it isn't R-r-r-Remus," he sneers.

Remus twists his arm, but Snape's grip is hard enough to leave bruises around his wrist - he's trapped, he's stuck with his worst enemy, and he's _terrified._ (He's pathetic, because Snape is _nothing_ compared to the villains in his favourite stories; you can justify fearing Miss Havisham, it's only natural to be afraid of Sauron, and Mrs Trunchball is downright horrifying. Snape is just a lanky twenty-something year old with a little too much anger and a fierce dislike of Remus. And that's all. He's pathetic).

"S-s-st-op-p-p," Remus feels like he's going to _die,_ all he wants is for Snape to leave him alone - why can't he just walk past and ignore him like every other person on the planet does?

"But I've been wanting to talk t-t-t-to you _all_ week, Remus. What shall we t-t-t-talk about first - how much you fucked up yesterday, or how much you're going to lend me for my night out tonight?" Snape's tone started so false-friendly, but every aspect of pretence has slipped by the end, and there's such a nasty smile on his face.

Remus feels the tears stinging in his eyes, and he _wills_ them not to fall. As if it wasn't bad enough that Snape's mocking his fucking stutter, of course he brings up what happened yesterday, he's been dying to get one over on Remus since the start of First Year.

"Awh, are you _crying,_ L-L-Lupin? Jesus fucking Christ, you're fucking pathetic."

Pulling at his trapped arm again, Remus still can't escape - Snape has backed him against a wall.

"Did you know Slughorn said that it was one of the _worst_ essays he's ever read?"

"He d-didn't," Remus chokes, but honestly? He has no way of knowing what was said after he'd left, what if Slughorn actually _had_ said that about him? It was a shitty essay, after all...

"Yup," says Snape with relish. " _And_ he said that if you hand in another piece of trash like that, he'll make you read it in front of the class yourself."

Were Remus in a better mental state, he would recognise the words for the lies that they were, because Severus knows exactly what to say to make Remus crack. But Remus isn't in a better mental state - he's a mess, he just needs to have a complete breakdown alone in the dark and safety of his bedroom, and his chest is physically aching with self-loathing and panic. And so Snape's words worm around the panic, burrow in to his heart, and settle there, poisoning the last, tiny fleck of positivity the coffee shop had left there only an hour ago - and before he knows what's happening, _he believes Snape._

"P-please just l-leave m-me alone," he whispers, simultaneously too low and too panicked to care that a single tear has escaped his eyes.

"Not until I get what I want, Remus, you know how this works." Snape's still penning him in, clutching at his wrist, and there's nobody about to help him.

And so, as slowly as he dares, he reaches in to his pocket, and pulls out the single five pound note resting in his wallet, (the five pound note that was supposed to keep him fed for the next four days, but food is for the weak any way, right? Lily will be livid, but Lily's not here right now), and hands it to Snape.

"S'all I've got," he says quietly, and Severus practically snatches the note from Remus' trembling fingers.

"Do better next time," he hisses, and then he's shoving Remus out of the door. He falls hard down the steps, just barely putting his hands out in time to stop himself from face-planting. The gravel scrapes against his bare palms, and tears at the tender flesh there, and it _hurts._

But it hurts less than the internal ache of not being good enough, of being too weak to stand up for himself, of being a pathetic, useless failure, and so Remus picks himself up, and limps the long way home.

* * *

'Safety' has come to mean 'bed' to Remus, and he heads straight for it the second he gets in. He's already exhausted, physically and mentally, and he aches all over thanks to a combination of Snape's treatment and his own clumsiness – he just needs to curl up under his duvet, and not have to think about when he's going to leave it (never, he never wants to leave it).

His alarm goes off at twelve to remind him that he should be in a lecture now. His stomach gurgles around two in the afternoon to remind him that he hasn't consumed anything more than a few gulps of hot chocolate all day. His palms sting from where he hasn't yet removed the gravel, and he's probably getting blood all over the sheets.

He doesn't care. He can't bring himself to care about any of these trivial, insignificant things, when he feels like he's drowning in misery and choking under the pressure of everything he has to do. A small part of him knows that McGonagall is right – he does need help, or needs to change – he can't go on like this, he just can't. But he's dug himself in to this hole where he can't leave because he'll be letting his mother down (she needs him to get a well-paid job after all of this, she needs to be able to afford her treatment), not to mention the thousands of pounds of crippling debt he'll be in (just thinking about that makes him feel nauseated, he can't face that), and how _useless_ he'll be if he drops out-

Remus sucks in a breath.

Nobody's making him leave. Hell, his mother doesn't even know how much he's struggling, he's fine for now. He just has to work a little harder, dig a little deeper – maybe he'll discover some previously unknown passion for Law – but if he works harder, his grades will improve, things will get better – _they have to get better._

(He represses the voice in his head that whispers that if he works much harder, he might actually implode. Pushing your limits, exploring new boundaries – isn't that what uni's all about?)

It's taken him five hours to come to this conclusion. Five hours, and he's missed two lectures and a tutorial, without doing anything productive, and _fuck_ , he loathes himself.

With a groan, he disentangles himself from the blankets, and sits up a little. He doesn't feel any better than he did when he first crawled in there, but he can't afford to waste time – he realises that now. And so, he hefts his textbook out from his bag, grabs a pad of paper and pen, and begins to diligently take notes on the difference between types of evidence in Common Law.

After ten minutes, he's bored out of his mind, and after thirty minutes, he's debating whether watching washing machine videos on YouTube would be more interesting than this. His battered copy of _A Long Way Down_ is lying on the bedside table, and the temptation to pick that up instead is painfully strong, but he battles on.

He can do this.

(Maybe).

At six forty-nine exactly (as if he's been watching the clock instead of working), Remus hears the soft swish and click of the door, as Lily quietly lets herself in from work. He debates briefly whether he can pretend like today wasn't a total disaster – he knows she'll ask, she always does – but before he's had a chance to even begin to pull himself together, she's burst through his door.

"Hey, you," she sings, dropping a kiss on his cheek, without really looking at him, and then depositing herself down on the end of his bed. She's still in her uniform, and she looks shattered, but she's already talking a mile a minute. "I had a craving, and bought us pizza – I didn't think you'd have eaten yet, pepperoni for me, ham and mushroom for you, just the way you like it. And before you ask, you don't owe me anyth-"

She cuts off abruptly, as she finally looks up at him, and a look of horrified _rage_ takes over her face immediately, and within seconds, she's right in front of him.

"Who did this?" she demands, her hands hovering just above where Remus supposes there are now livid bruises across his cheekbones. He reaches out to remove her hands, to reassure her, but that's a mistake, because the movement pulls his sleeve down, and the bruises curling around his wrists are now brilliantly visible in violet and charcoal.

She chokes out something incomprehensible, now reaching for his wrist, and whispers, "Remus? Talk to me?"

"It's not what y-you think," he says quickly, because that's all he can think to say. It looks so much worse than it is - he's been pushing away the aches and pains for the last few hours, it's not that bad, and god knows he's had worse, but he also knows that Lily doesn't want to hear that.

"What happened?" Lily says firmly, her eyes fixed on his, and that's her don't-even-try-and-bullshit-me-I-want-the-goddamned-truth voice.

Remus swallows, and then says, "a door. I walked in to a d-door. And fell d-down some steps."

Lily shakes her head sharply. "Nuh-uh, these are handprints," she gestures to his wrists. "What aren't you telling me?" Her eyes narrow as she looks over him, and then widen suddenly. "Snape."

" _Lily-_ " Remus says quickly, but Lily's already jumped to her feet.

"I'm going to kill him," she says cheerfully. "I'm going to rip off his testicles, and then stuff them _so_ far down his throat, he chokes on them." She's walking out of the room as she says this, as casually as if she were going to make some tea, and Remus _panics._

"Wait! Where are you g-going?!" Remus jumps out of bed, but he's still tangled in his blankets, and he falls flat on to the floor with a crash, wincing as he lands on yet more bruises.

"I'm getting my first aid kit, you moron, now get back in to bed."

"I don't need-"

" _Remus._ Indulge me this one little thing, and I swear I won't lynch Snape tonight."

"It wasn't him!" Remus insists, and Lily raises a disbelieving eyebrow. "Okay, s-some of it was. B-but it was mostly me being a d-dork."

Lily hesitates, still clearly torn between rage and concern. "Do you promise?" she says eventually, one hand on her hip, the other clutching a tiny, green first-aid box.

Remus nods emphatically, and Lily sighs heavily, but returns to his bed, and begins busying herself with cleaning out the cuts on his hands. "Don't be a big baby," she says sharply, in response to his winces. "There was a little girl in the ER today who'd broken her arm – she didn't even flinch. Such a little trooper." She catches his expression as she looks up, and laughs. "Okay, tell me about your day. How was the meeting with McGonagall?"

"Uh-"

"You _did_ go, didn't you?"

" _Yes._ It was j-just… a m-mess."

"How so?"

Lily's not looking at him, she's studiously working on his palms, and he's _so_ grateful that she's not staring at him, demanding an answer.

He takes a deep breath. "I n-nearly had two breakdowns, she s-suggested I switched c-courses, and g-gave me the therapy talk ag-gain."

This time, Lily does look up at him, and there's a trace of guilt in her eyes this time, as she pulls him in to a hug. Her flaming hair tickles his nostrils, but it smells like apples, which is oddly soothing. "I'm not sorry I made you go," she begins. "But I am sorry it went so badly. And…" she pauses, and Remus knows what's coming. "I'm sorry I told on you. I'm just so worried about you, and I thought-" She shrugs, and Remus squeezes her in both silent forgiveness and apology. She presses a kiss to the top of his head, and he pretends not to see her discreetly wiping her eyes as she pulls away.

"What do you think about what she said? About switching courses?"

Remus shakes his head, the familiar panic rising up in his throat. "I don't w-want to-"

"Okay," Lily cuts him off. "Okay. I take it you didn't go to your classes after everything."

He shakes his head again. "I w-went to the café before though," he says, suddenly remembering. He can't place why he's blushing and unable to meet Lily's eyes, but he is. Had he met her eyes, he would have caught her interested expression, and a knowing smile.

"Oh? And how was it?"

Remus shrugs. "It was nice. They're nice t-to me there, it makes me f-feel…" He shrugs again. "I don't know, it's st-tupid."

"It's not stupid, not if it makes you happy," Lily says quietly.

"I think… it d-does, I c-can breathe there."

"Tell me about it?"

And so he does. He explains how it's tucked away from the street, easy to miss, vastly underrated, but maybe that's part of its charm. He explains how it's cosy and warm inside, all the retro posters and positive messages, the flawless playlist that seems to just _know_ all of Remus' favourite tunes, the atmosphere in there that's so relaxed that it cures even Remus' restless mind. He gets a little stuck trying to express just how _delicious_ their doughnuts are, at how thick and creamy the hot chocolate is, about how generous they are with marshmallows and chocolate sprinkles. And of course, then he finds himself _gushing_ (he's an embarrassment, he's actually gushing like a love-struck thirteen year old), about the beautiful barista who works there, who makes Remus feel special, like he's really worth something. The words pour out of him fluently, almost like poetry, and he feels _happy_ just talking about it, trying to reconstruct the scenery as perfectly for Lily as he can recall it in his mind, and this – _this –_ is what passion feels like.

When he finally runs out of words, there's a pause, and Remus feels the embarrassment creeping over him at just how long he's been talking.

Lily lets out a soft sigh, and leans against him. "Did you know that you speak like a writer when you're talking about something you love? And you barely stutter at all."

"What do you m-mean?"

"You know… you speak like someone from one of your stories. Like you're in another world. Like you're creating one - I don't know… it's kinda beautiful though."

There's another pause, like Lily's gearing up to saying something. "You never sound like that about Law."

Remus doesn't know what to say to this, so instead he shrugs again, and pushes himself to his feet. "Pizza?" he says softly, and Lily thankfully allows the subject change.

"We'll probably have to reheat it," she says as she bounds out of the room. "But we can put on the Bake Off, eat pizza, girly night in, how does that sound?"

"Perfect," he calls back. It sounds perfect.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

\- I know nothing about Law or studying it, I cannot stress this enough, I did some half-hearted googling, but it got very confusing very quickly, so please let all the inaccuracies slide? I'm also sure that it's actually great to study - I just needed a subject that I couldn't see Remus enjoying, so apologies for that also.

\- Sheffield is a wonderful, beautiful city - the coffee shop exists and has the best doughnuts in the world, and the botanical gardens are stunning - if you ever have time to visit, then I would 10/10 recommend.

\- Yes, Remus is reading Harry Potter, I can't handle the inception either.

\- This fic is very close to my heart because it's dealing with something that's so important to me - your mental health always, always, always has to come before education or anything else, and it's 100% okay to not get uni right first time. Remus' attitude in this is like this for reasons that will become clear as the story progresses, but essentially, he's forcing himself to do something that's making him unhappy and damaging his mental health. PLease please know that you don't deserve to feel like this, if you ever need someone to rant to about uni and stress and choices, then drop me a message and I will gladly listen. (I'm sure I'll rant more about this another time).

\- Title from Your Time Will Come by Amy McDonald, chapter title from Hamilton!

Thank you so much for reading, feedback makes my heart sing, take care! xoxo


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